


the heart that you call home

by embellished



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 15:06:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/embellished/pseuds/embellished
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robb is fifteen and freaking out over the possibility that he might be gay. Theon tries to help, and fails spectacularly (until he doesn't).</p>
            </blockquote>





	the heart that you call home

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://workswithwords.livejournal.com/259929.html?thread=2384985#t2384985) for the asoiaf kink meme.

Robb is pacing.

On the other side of the room, Theon sighs. When he had come over, he’d been stunned (and kind of delighted) to find that for once all the other Starks had been out. The way he’d figured it, that meant that they could take advantage of having the house to themselves. But no. Instead of raiding the refrigerator and blasting music and playing video games on the massive TV in the living room, Robb had dragged him straight up to his bedroom. And started _pacing_. 

Well, Theon thinks, if he’s going to be stuck watching this shit he might as well be comfortable. He kicks off his scuffed converse sneakers and sprawls across the bed like he owns it (which is not the case, of course. Not his bed, not his bedroom, not his house, like he needs reminding) before propping himself up on his elbows to follow Robb’s progress back and forth across the room. 

But he’s not just pacing anymore. Now he’s also started twisting the worn hem of his favourite T-shirt in his hands – the band tee Theon bought him when they went to see The Dire Wolves the year before. Something is plainly bothering him, and Theon is just about to suggest that, if he’s so stressed, why don’t they go and let off some steam by running down innocent pedestrians in GTA (an activity which amuses Theon, but which Robb generally frowns on) when suddenly Robb turns to face him.

He’s white as snow, and Theon is suddenly genuinely worried when he says, “I need to tell you something.”

Theon swings his feet off the bed and sits up straight, bracing himself for bad news. “Well, spit it out,” he replies.

“I think I might be gay,” Robb blurts, and looks a lot like he’s going to puke all over the carpet.

Theon blinks, then bursts out in laughter. “Is that all? Fuck, dude, I thought you were going to tell me you had cancer or something. But, yeah, man, okay. That’s cool. What’s the big deal?”

Robb’s evidently relieved by Theon’s response. Colour starts to seep back into his face and he exhales slowly, like he’s been holding his breath. He runs a hand through his reddish curls and shrugs. “You know,” he says, smoothing down his twisted, wrinkly shirt and not quite looking at Theon. “My dad, I guess?”

Kicking out his feet and stretching lazily, Theon carelessly waves off the idea. “Dude, don’t even worry about him. He’s a good guy, really. Not like Balon Von Dickhole.” They both salute, then flip the bird – an age-old ritual they perform almost unconsciously whenever Theon’s father is mentioned – before Theon continues. “I mean, Ned’s about as warm and cuddly as an ice sculpture, but he loves you guys.”

And actually, he is in a better position than most to know this. After all, he’s been watching the Starks’ relationships from the outside for most of his life. 

Theon hadn’t had a great childhood. His father was a naval captain who went out to sea for months at a time, and his mother… well, she spent most of her time with one foot out of reality. His older brothers saw him as a pest, and his sister would only play with him when she could cast him as the evil monster she’d vanquish (usually with a sharp stick) in her games of make-believe. He’d felt like a ghost in his own house. Painfully lonely, he’d spent all his time looking for somewhere he belonged; somewhere he was really wanted – a safe harbour. And while the Starks’ sprawling manor didn’t really tick all the boxes, it was definitely better than home. It had fun and noise and life, and it had Robb – his best friend in the world. So he’d stayed at Winterfell as often as he could. And, really, in a house of six kids, what was one more?

In the early days, Theon had even just shared Robb’s bed. It was low-fuss, and it suited them both fine. Theon remembers the comfortingly warm weight of Robb beside him, and the way he could tangle their feet together to heat up his icy toes. The wuffling breaths that weren’t quite snores, and the way Robb didn’t mind when Theon thrashed around when he was having another one of his nightmares about drowning. In fact, in a strange way Theon finds himself kind of missing it. A few years ago, Cat had decided that her son was too old for such sleepovers, and the next time Theon had come to stay, there’d been a spare mattress on the floor. It had been that way ever since, and now Theon has to wonder if maybe Cat had had some sort of foresight into Robb’s current dilemma. 

Theon broods for a moment on his own father, and how he’d take it if Theon ever came out. He might be furious, Theon thinks; might order him out of the house and give him a reason to leave for good. But it’s more likely he simply wouldn’t care. Just like he hadn’t cared about anything else Theon had done, said or been for the last seventeen years. He scowls at the idea, and then suddenly remembers he’s supposed to be focussing on Robb’s problems right now. 

“Your dad will be fine,” he reiterates, trying to look as reassuringly certain as possible. “He won’t care that you want to fuck dudes.”

“But, like.” Now Robb looks miserable again, and he still won’t meet Theon’s eyes. “I’m not sure that’s… I don’t know if it’s dudes, really.”

“Ah, so you’re _confused_..” Theon looks thoughtful as he leans forward and rests his sharp elbows on his knees. “Okay, no problem. We can figure this out. Who do you think about when you, you know –” he makes a lewd gesture with his hand “– crown the king?”

“Theon!” Robb blusters, flushing red-hot all the way to the tips of his ears. “I’m not – that’s _private._ ”

Theon just rolls his eyes. The boy could be such a prude. “Fine,” he says. “Let’s be more general. Is it girls?”

Kicking his toe into the carpet, Robb replies, “No…”

“Well, is it guys?”

Robb somehow blushes even darker. “Not exactly.”

Theon sits back with a frustrated sigh. “Well I hope it’s not farm animals or fresh produce, because god knows the Starks don’t need two melon-fuckers in the family.”

The corners of Robb’s mouth twitch upwards, and he finally lifts his gaze to meet Theon’s. “Don’t be an asshole. Jon can’t help who he is.”

Theon gives a short, surprised laugh – Robb _never_ joins in when he’s making fun of Jon – and even Robb breaks out in a small smile. They’re both silent for a moment, not sure what to do now. Theon chews his lip. Robb is his closest friend – there has to be some way to help him. 

Then suddenly it hits him.

“Dude, I totally got it. You have to kiss me.”

Robb’s jaw drops. His clear blue eyes are as wide as dinner plates and for a minute he just splutters, apparently rendered incapable of speech. When he finally takes a breath and gathers himself, he manages, “What? Theon, no. That’s crazy.”

But Theon shakes his head. “No, it’ll totally work!” He bounces off the bed, already caught up in the brilliance of his plan. “If you like it – well, you’re only human. If you don’t like it, you must be straight!”

Robb is still staring at him like he’s lost his mind. “I’m not kissing you,” he says, his voice oddly strangled.

Theon folds his arms and levels a stare at him. “Okay, seriously dude, you need to nut up. My sister has more balls than you. You want to figure this out, right? So get over here and kiss me!”

A muscle works in Robb’s tightly clenched jaw before he finally grits out, “Fine.”

In two long strides he’s crossed the room to Theon. His fingers flex indecisively at his sides for a moment, but then he seems to steel himself. He darts forward and in one quick motion presses a dry, chaste kiss against Theon’s lips.

He breaks away after only a second, looking embarrassed, and Theon sighs in frustration. “Come on man, that’s not what I mean. You kiss your mother with more feeling than that. Here –”

And he reaches out, twining his fingers in the curls at the nape of Robb’s neck. Leaning in slowly, he presses his mouth to Robb’s. He’s gentle at first, letting himself feel everything – the curve of Robb’s lips, the rasp of stubble along his jaw – and then more insistent. He traces Robb’s bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, asking admittance, and after a moment Robb grants it. His mouth falls open with a sigh and Theon’s tongue slips inside to curl with Robb’s own. 

And, okay. Theon knows about all the girls Robb’s kissed up until this point – or, at least, up until a few months ago, when he became curiously silent on the subject – and he is willing to bet that none of them ever kissed him like _this_. He take a strangely fierce, possessive pride in that, and it only makes him want to kiss him harder. 

Robb tastes sharp and sweet, like minty toothpaste and something else that Theon thinks must just be _Robb_ , and he explores this hungrily. And Theon’s never thought about this before, never really considered the idea that one day he’d be making out with his best friend, but it’s so good – so fucking _fantastic_ – and he can’t deny that his body is responding in ways it probably shouldn’t.

He lets his hand slide down Robb’s chest, thumb lightly stroking the ribs over his heart. Then he lets his hand drop and pulls away, catching Robb’s lower lip just one last time as he does so.

Robb is kind of panting, and Theon is suddenly struck by what a pretty picture he makes, with his hair a mess and his red lips all kiss-swollen and his ultra-blue eyes clouded with want. And then Theon lets his gaze drop lower, and takes in the obvious bulge in Robb’s jeans. 

“You liked it,” he states, with no small amount of satisfaction.

Robb jerks away like Theon’s words were a physical blow. His face is so red that Theon can practically feel the heat radiating off him, and he’s struck by a peculiar urge to find out exactly how far it travels down his pale skin. He won’t look at Theon, and he mumbles something like, “I’m gonna go…” 

He steps back like he’s going to leave, but Theon grabs him by the wrist. “No, dude.” He presses Robb’s hand against his own erection. “I mean, I liked it too.”

Robb freezes. “I… _I_ did that?” he asks, his voice laced with something like shock, something like pride. His fingers trace the hard line in Theon’s jeans.

“Yes. Fuck, _Robb_. Don’t –” he shuts his eyes, exhales sharply through his nose. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“What if I…” Robb swallows hard. His fingers still, but they don’t move away. “What if I wanted to finish it? What if I don’t think about girls or boys – or, or _melons_ when I touch myself? What if it’s only you?”

Theon opens his eyes, meets Robb’s gaze. He looks nervous – terrified, actually – but there’s also a certain determined edge sparking in the endless blue. The air hangs heavy between them now, and Theon tries to say something, anything to defuse the tension. Something like, _you don’t mean this_ , or _okay I’ll just go jerk off in the bathroom and then we can play GTA and forget this ever happened_ , or even _you are the only person in the world I’ve ever cared about, please don’t wreck that_. 

But then Robb smiles, small and shy. “I like you, Theon,” he says, and the words dry up in Theon’s throat.

And Theon is sure that there are still lots of reasons why they shouldn’t do this. But when Robb looks at him like that, heart and hope written all over his face – fuck it, he can’t think of a single one. So he lets Robb guide him backwards until they both fall onto the bed. Robb leans down to kiss him, slow and thorough, and Theon runs his hands up Robb’s back, feeling the knobby ridges of his vertebrae, the broad fan of his shoulder blades. Robb slides the flat of his palm up under Theon’s T-shirt and Theon’s skin feels like it’s on fire under his touch.

Robb kisses down his jaw, leans in to suck a mark into his neck. And, god, maybe Theon won’t be able to hide it. Maybe everyone will see it and know that a part of Theon belongs to Robb now. He’s hard as iron, and when Robb rolls his hips down, just _grinding_ against him, Theon can’t hold back a moan.

Robb grins against Theon’s neck, and then he slips his hand out from Theon’s shirt, trails his fingertips teasingly past his waistband. He palms Theon through his jeans, and Theon’s hips jump up reflexively, shamelessly seeking more friction.

“Jesus, Robb, fuck –” he pants, desperate for more but not sure how to ask for it, not from Robb. 

But somehow Robb understands, and brushing his lips against Theon’s neck just once more, he sits back on his heels. With fumbling fingers he manages to undo Theon’s fly, and then they work together to shove his tight jeans down to his knees. And then Robb just… stares. 

There’s wonder in his gaze, like he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. His eyes rake over Theon’s exposed skin and it makes Theon suddenly embarrassed. He wriggles uncomfortably on the bed, hands smoothing over the bedsheets because he doesn’t know what else to do with them, and this seems to break Robb out of his spell. He breathes out a soft laugh, skimming his fingernails up the insides of Theon’s thighs. Theon shivers, his muscles tightening involuntarily beneath Robb’s touch, and when Robb’s fingers finally curl around his cock he groans, deep and guttural. 

Robb starts off slow – uncertain, maybe – but with every stroke he seems to gain in confidence. His hand is steady on Theon’s cock; smooth, quick drag of friction on skin. He twists his palm over the head on the upstroke and Theon can’t swallow the breathy whine that spills from his lips. 

The room is starting to smell like sweat and sex and Theon can feel every one of Robb’s fingers as they stroke him. His blood is singing through his veins and his breathing’s coming short and shallow and he knows he isn’t going to last. Warmth begins to pool in his abdomen, coils tight around his spine, and when Robb twists his wrist again Theon keens, high and needy.

Robb leans down then, teeth grazing Theon’s pulse point, mouthing his way up the tendon in his neck.

“Next time I’ll use my mouth,” he says, breath hot and sticky against Theon’s ear. And, fuck, the mental picture of Robb on his knees, the promise that there will be a next time – that’s all it takes. Theon’s hips slam forward and he practically _wails_ as he comes harder than he ever has in his life.

He thinks he must go into a kind of post-orgasmic stupor for a while there, because when he comes to, Robb is sitting next to him on the bed, furiously stripping his cock. His thighs are spread wide and his head has fallen back to show off all the perfect lines in his neck and it might just be the hottest thing Theon has ever seen, but it’s still not _right._

Wrenching himself up, he fairly tackles Robb, swatting his hands away and pinning them down as he bears him back into the tangled sheets. Taking Robb’s heavy, leaking cock in his own palm, it somehow feels completely new and yet familiar all at the same time. He runs his fingers up the heated flesh, drags his thumbnail down the slit, and Robb gasps and his hips stutter beneath him. 

“Theon, _please,_ ” he begs, voice rough and cracked with want. His fingers are fisted in the bedclothes and his clear blue eyes are shot to black, and Theon feels something clench hard in his chest knowing it’s because of _him_.

He wraps his hand around the base of Robb’s cock and strokes once, experimentally. Robb’s breath hitches, and Theon takes it as a good sign. And from there it’s only too easy to fall into a fast, tight rhythm. Robb’s hips pulse restlessly into his grip and he keeps making these kind of breathless moaning noises in the back of his throat and Theon knows he must be achingly, desperately close.

He slides his free hand away from where it was lying splayed out on Robb’s chest, feeling his heartbeat thundering underneath the skin. Slipping it down between Robb’s legs, back behind his balls, he gently rocks a knuckle against the secret skin hidden there. And with just that touch, Robb’s toes curl and his body arches off the bed as he comes. And though he’ll never admit it, right at that moment Theon’s heart feels full fit to burst.

They clean themselves up with tissues from Robb’s bedside table, and then they both just kind of lie on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. They’ve just done something they can’t take back – something that changes everything – and Theon isn’t sure if he should be scared or excited.

“So,” he finally says, wanting to break the deafening silence. “You like me, huh?”

Robb props himself up on one elbow and looks at Theon, his expression serious. “I do,” he replies solemnly.

“Well, good. Because I think I like you too.”

They’re both silent for a long moment. Theon’s still staring straight ahead, and Robb gazes down at him, a brilliant smile spreading slowly across his face. 

Theon can’t help but grin too, and bumps Robb with his shoulder. “You know, I think we’ve solved your earlier problem. Because this is all fucking gay as fuck.”

Robb laughs, bright and contented, and flops back onto the bed. Drawing Theon closer to him, he says, “You talk too much. Just shut up and sleep.”

“Who died and made you king in the bed?” Theon grumbles, but when Robb throws an arm over his side and curls in behind him, wuffly breath against the back of his neck, he doesn’t pull away. Tucking his bare feet between Robb’s, he feels like he’s finally found his way back to the one place he belongs. After everything, this is his safe harbour.


End file.
